


It Takes A Village

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Character of Faith, Developing Relationship, Dreams, Family, Homecoming, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Multi, Polyamory, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan was sure he was dreaming or witnessing yet more visions. How else could he be back in Kattegat? Why would Ragnar’s people come back for him? Why were Aslaug and Lagertha spending so much time with him? And where was Ragnar? But some things turn out to be even better than dreams and visions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Takes A Village

**Author's Note:**

> Set during season two, after Athelstan has been rescued from crucifixion. An alternate way in which he could have been reunited with the Norse folk :) Inspired by einfach_mich, who wanted more OT4 fic. I hope I have provided suitably :)

 

 

It had to be another vision, more terror that Athelstan didn't understand. He was looking through a window and saw Floki, Torstein, and Lagertha. It had to be a vision, how else could Lagertha be here with Ragnar's men? The sight made Athelstan's heart beat faster. He spilled ink across a half-finished scroll and didn't even notice.

 

Was that King Ecbert shouting? Athelstan's hands trembled, still he could not use them as well as he once had, and his feet ached. He couldn't stop watching. Floki sneered when he saw Athelstan.

 

“Still alive, priest?”

 

Athelstan was surprised at how happy he was to hear Floki's derision. He watched as Lagertha sheathed her sword and approached him, care in her eyes that was so at odds with the blood she wore and the shield in her hands. This was a good vision, sent to torture him.

 

He tried not to think of them too often, it hurt to think of Kattegat, a place that should not have felt like home but that had become associated with happiness and family. Family. Athelstan didn't know if it was a tear or blood that was rolling down his cheek. He was shaking. What was God trying to tell him? He'd found a place in King Ecbert's court, he was able to write again, to serve God. It was not peace, but it was close.

 

So why this vision? Why now?

 

Suddenly Ragnar appeared, his face smeared with blood, fury and satisfaction vivid in his expression. He directed Floki back to the ship so that they could be ready to leave again soon. Athelstan's body ached, his head felt hot. He was reaching out and when he felt Lagertha's hand touch him and Ragnar's gaze meet his, his world suddenly turned black and tipped over and he saw nothing more.

 

*

 

Everything went to pieces then. Athelstan felt the motion of a boat on water, he heard Floki screaming to the heavens, he felt a hand in his hair. The touch was comforting and did not seem to expect anything. He pressed into it and hoped that this vision would last.

 

He heard songs being sung, tales he had once heard by firelight, Gyda as rapt as he'd been. But how could they believe such stories were true? His heart hurt as he thought of Gyda, forever a child in his mind, so clever and willing to both learn and teach. She'd taught him how to weave and how to do so many things in a world that hadn't made sense to him, he'd taught her about God and how to write her name. She'd been excited about the shape of letters. He liked remembering her happiness.

 

He thought he saw Ragnar and Lagertha, both baring scars he did not recognise, both leaner and harder. He thought he felt their touch. He swallowed and his face felt wet.

 

The pain in his body was unending.

 

*

 

Athelstan was lying on a soft bed; someone was wiping sweat from his brow. He’d never experienced this sort of nightmare before. He frowned, his hands and feet still hurt but the pain was dull now. There was a familiar smell, smoke and salted meats and dirt that was not of Wessex's shores. Athelstan's heart felt as loud as thunder in his ears. He opened his eyes.

 

Princess Aslaug was positioned beside him, her face concentrating on his; she was the one who was wiping away his sweat.

 

“You are with us, Athelstan.”

 

It felt like a reassurance. But why was she tending to him? A servant should be surely, not a princess. But Aslaug stayed where she was. He had never been so close to her before and her beauty shone in the dark familiar room. Her hair was finely braided and she wore green and gold. Athelstan had always been sure that she'd resented him because he’d been a reminder of Ragnar's life with Lagertha. She did not look resentful now though. Why was he seeing this?

 

Aslaug frowned down at him and her bare hand pressed to his brow. She was not a warrior but he felt as though he was being pinned in place. His body felt hot again and he was still wearing his monk's robes and why was Aslaug looking at him like that?

 

Aslaug shook her head. “Sleep. We will be here when you wake.”

 

“You never are.”

 

Athelstan's eyes widened, he hadn't meant to say that. Because although he tried not to think about Kattegat, about Ragnar and Lagertha in particular, he couldn't control what he saw in his dreams. He'd dreamt about them often since King Ecbert had rescued him. He had woken up hard sometimes, on other occasions he had been crying

 

He knew how Aslaug felt about others' lust for her husband. It was just a vision, a nightmare, but he still did not want to disappoint or anger her.

 

But Aslaug didn't frown or become angry. Her touch was soft on his brow, it was a soothing motion. Athelstan made a sound in his throat and she didn't stop.

 

“We will be here, Athelstan.”

 

She didn't leave his side. She had to be a vision. Athelstan slept, trying to memorise her touch.

 

*

 

When he opened his eyes again, he was still in Kattegat. This had never happened before. Whenever he'd been overwhelmed by images, they had come and gone vividly. They had never lasted so long and they had never been so detailed. Athelstan blinked, his stomach rolled and with sudden divine clarity, the facts drew together and he knew. He was in Kattegat. He was in Kattegat and impossibly it was not a dream or a vision.

 

He must have made a noise because Aslaug moved quickly towards him from out of the darkness. He could feel the softness of her dress; it brushed against him as she sat down beside his bed. She looked at him steadily and he could pick out relief in the nooks of her expression. Why was she relieved? How was any of this possible?

 

“How?”

 

His voice was cracked and worried. Aslaug didn't attempt to quiet him. Instead, she touched the cool metal of the arm-band that he still wore around his wrist. Even in King Ecbert's court, Athelstan hadn't taken it off. He sharply remembered stories of Princess Aslaug's gifts, stories that claimed she was a völva, someone who saw what was to come. He wondered suddenly, like a pain in his chest, what she'd seen of him.

 

“King Horick and his son escaped the slaughter. He and Jarl Ragnar sought recompense.”

 

Her expression was curious, calm but as though she was looking for something in him. Athelstan wished he knew what she sought. His mind felt entirely jumbled, why had Ragnar brought him back here? He knew that Ragnar had been hurt by Athelstan's decision to stay in Wessex. Athelstan still couldn't believe he was in Kattegat once more. But he recognised the rough feel of the blanket beneath him, the smell that surrounded him, and the cool air in his lungs.

 

“Why did he...?”

 

Aslaug's eyebrows moved. “You wished to stay, in a place that did _this_ to you?”

 

Her touch was feather-light on his palm. His hands had been rebandaged he noticed, and there was a smell, like the mixture Floki had once made to heal Ragnar. He shook his head because he had felt a bond with Kattegat and the people there despite the fact that Ragnar and his men had destroyed everything he'd ever known. Had they done the same thing again?

 

“I found peace there.”

 

His voice was a plea and Aslaug drew back. “You were happy _here_.”

 

She stroked a hand lightly down his cheek. He couldn't understand why she was being so affectionate. She smiled slightly as though she knew his thoughts but she did not retreat. Aslaug was a princess and she was tending to the man that some of her husband's men despised. Athelstan looked down at his hands; he expected them to be bleeding again. They weren't.

 

*

 

Athelstan slept fitfully at first but whenever he woke, someone, usually Aslaug, was with him. The bed always felt warm and smelled comforting and familiar. Sometimes he opened his eyes and thought that someone else was in the room watching from a dim corner, but they were never there when he properly woke and looked hard. His thoughts were still spinning, his speech slow as he remembered again how to speak their language. But he was always in Kattegat. Why had God allowed this? Athelstan's prayers had felt more distant when he'd been in Wessex. He still didn't know why, it hurt to think about. But had one of his prayers been to return to Kattegat? He had flowed with many pleas when he was being crucified; he had also thought he had deserved such suffering.

 

When King Ecbert's men had swept upon King Horik's, Athelstan had thought bleakly about the choice he had made in staying. It had been a choice rooted in the ink and parchment that he had stumbled upon at Winchester, a sharp-edged reminder of what he had once been dedicated to. He had slain a young monk and had looked down at the body, seeing his brothers, his sins, and the path he was now carving in blood.

 

He had begun to think that God had wanted him to return to the peaceful former life he had long known, that that was where he belonged – serving God even if the Lord had become somewhat faint. Athelstan had still held to Him, but he had looked towards Odin too and had wondered sometimes if God often wore such a different face. Had he been fooling himself? What was God's plan? Surely it was for Athelstan to suffer and repent for what he had done in Kattegat and for who he had become. But here he was again. Athelstan was still no closer to knowing his Lord God's plan. It was a familiarly helpless desperate feeling.

 

Sometimes he woke and Helga was there, smiling and genuinely glad to see him. She had never agreed with Floki's views on Athelstan and so helped him to sip water and eat bread. She lay on the bed and wrapped an arm around him. Athelstan was glad of her warmth and affection. It was so different to how life had been in Wessex. He remembered the girl who had been scarred because of her husband's wrongful rage. He had thought then of Ragnar and Lagertha seeing to such disputes in their longhouse, how different things had been.

 

Aslaug was there more often than not and Athelstan could not understand her presence. He wondered privately why Ragnar had not visited him. He must have dreamed Lagertha.

 

Aslaug smiled slightly. “You aren't asking questions.”

 

Athelstan shifted carefully and looked uncomfortably down at his monk robes. He wasn't sure if he should be wearing them anymore. They didn’t felt completely right against his skin.

 

“This feels like a dream.”

 

“A bad one?”

 

Athelstan pressed his lips together. He didn't like to lie, but he thought of how many times he had claimed not to be a Christian anymore. That had never been fully true. Aslaug had a look about her that oddly reminded Athelstan of Floki, it was an odd notion because Aslaug was so serene but like Floki, her eyes saw things that others did not.

 

Athelstan wondered how much he had to tell her, how much she didn't know.

 

He felt as though he had no grip on his circumstances. He had been taught from a young age that everything was in God's hands and that he himself ultimately had no control. It had always been a reassuring thought, but now it wasn't. Now Athelstan was a different man.

 

Aslaug patiently waited for his answer. She didn't command him to speak. He wondered how different she was too.

 

“I don't know.”

 

Aslaug didn't look upset or surprised by his answer. She didn't chastise him for trusting in his God rather than those he'd lived by in Kattegat. She didn't mock him for it either. She just sat there, a slight smile on her face as she watched him. Athelstan sank into the peace and felt his heartbeat slow. Somehow he slept better after that.

 

*

 

There was a voice but it wasn't part of his dreams. Athelstan frowned and forced himself to wake. He cracked open his eyes and blinked hard because Aslaug was sat on the bed and Lagertha stood close to her. She looked as beautiful and unbending as ever. Her clothes were dark and fitted and her hair was tightly and elaborately coiled. Strangely, she didn't look angry or resentful towards Aslaug and the princess wore a similar contented expression. They were a beautiful image, almost a vision.

 

He couldn't stop staring at Lagertha. There were marks on her face like scars and she seemed so much more solid. Had she really been there in Wessex? She must have sensed him breaking out of sleep because she looked towards him, her eyes roving over him carefully.

 

“Athelstan.”

 

Athelstan swallowed and didn't know how to address her. Aslaug was Ragnar's wife now but Lagertha had always been his mistress. He was a free man. That struck him anew, the metal at his wrist reminding him, he was a free man yet he had been taken from Wessex as though he was still a slave. Something tight pulled across his chest and his expression moved similarly.

 

Lagertha frowned. “How is the pain?”

 

Athelstan moved his feet and clenched his hands carefully. “There are aches but I feel as though I can move.”

 

“Good.”

 

Lagertha leaned over suddenly and pressed a hand to his cheek, a touch that lingered and made something shudder deep inside of Athelstan.

 

“You will get your strength back. You cannot lie here forever.”

 

There was something in her tone that caught Athelstan's attention. He wanted to hold onto her, to know that she was real. It had been a long time since he had seen her. He hadn't ever expected to see her again; it was a feeling that had left him uncomfortable, as though something was missing. The sensation had never left him.

 

“Were you there?”

 

Lagertha's mouth turned upwards at the corners and she smoothed a hand through his hair. Aslaug was glancing at Lagertha with a warm expression that only confused Athelstan further.

 

“Ragnar can no longer keep me from raiding,” Lagertha declared quietly. “It was a good fight.”

 

Athelstan tried to sit up and Lagertha helped him, sitting at his hip. His heart was beating wildly again and for once, his thoughts were clear.

 

“What happened to King Ecbert?”

 

Lagertha looked at him hard for a moment but her hand was light at his waist and she answered him. “He lives but now he knows what price comes with treachery.”

 

“Like Jarl Borg,” added Aslaug sounding deeply satisfied.

 

The two women shared a look and Athelstan felt again as though he was missing something. He looked at them helplessly, but he didn't want Lagertha to withdraw. The pressure of her hand at his hip became firmer. He felt as though he had been holding his breath. Lagertha seemed pleased by him, it made warmth flow through Athelstan. Was this how God smiled at him?

 

“Kattegat is my home again, as it is yours, as it should be with family.”

 

Athelstan tried not to gape as the two women made sure that he ate a full bowl of stew with bread. They took it in turns to hold a cup of water to his lips. Neither seemed awkward or uncomfortable. Athelstan was glad of the frequent contact, it made him feel grounded. Should he feel that way? He was still seeking God, why did he feel as though God was louder here in Kattegat, louder than He had been amongst Christians in Wessex?

 

Lagertha looked down at Athelstan's monk robes with a frown. Athelstan felt as though he was wearing the same expression for the same reason, but when he opened his mouth he asked something else “Why did you come back?”

 

Lagertha stilled, her expression blank. After a moment, she answered. “I thought I was securing Björn's future when I married again. But Björn belongs with his father.”

 

“So do you,” Aslaug told her, firmly.

 

Her hand was pressed to Lagertha's arm and Lagertha's expression flickered into something close to a smile, her own hand moving to cover Aslaug's fingers. Athelstan's brow puckered. Every time he woke he felt physically stronger but his grip on everything around him seemed to lessen.

 

Lagertha turned back towards him “My husband is dead. His people are mine now, those who wanted to came to Kattegat. We arrived in time to join the raid.”

 

“We were grateful, we still are.”

 

Aslaug's smile was so small and warm, Lagertha's expression changed to match it and she lifted Aslaug's fingers to her lips. It was a tender unfathomable image. Something cinched in Athelstan's chest and his mouth dried. Lagertha got to her feet, she looked strong and immovable but there was something else visible within her that made Athelstan's breath catch. He could not look away. He felt thirsty, as though he still had not drunk his fill. He felt the same way around Aslaug. He felt unworthy to gaze upon either of them but he could not stop looking.

 

Lagertha looked at him and though her expression was minimal, Athelstan thought that she might be pleased. In a rush he hoped that he hadn't forgotten how to read her. Lagertha left without looking back and Aslaug hummed softly. The noise was comforting, so was the hand on his wrist, close to the arm-band. Such sensations made all the frantic noise in his head disappear, for a short while. He dreamed of ink and the beauty of God's Word. He found himself praying that such peace would never end, but it always did. Perhaps that was what he truly deserved.

 

*

 

The next morning, when Athelstan was sat up, considering the clothing that someone had left for him, there was movement in the shadows near the doorway. A tall broad-shouldered young man stared at Athelstan as though he wasn't sure he could trust his own eyes. Athelstan knew that feeling well. He wondered who he was looking at, then the man frowned and Athelstan knew. It was hard to believe, like so much he had witnessed recently. God was testing him indeed.

 

“Björn?”

 

The young man's mouth lifted in a manner identical to Lagertha's and he drew closer. Athelstan stared; Björn had grown a lot since they had last seen each other. He looked strong and there were shades of his mother, father, and uncle in his appearance and expression. Athelstan could clearly remember the young boy who had sneered at him so much, now he was a man whose expression flickered with uncertainty before smoothing into learned blankness. It was a strange feeling to try and reconcile the two images, the boy in Athelstan's memory and the man now before him. He wondered what Björn wanted.

 

“I can't believe you're alive,” Björn muttered, his gaze sweeping Athelstan, his tone boyish.

 

Athelstan managed a smile. “I can't believe how much you've grown. Your parents must be proud.”

 

Björn lifted his chin. “I fought my first battle and raided in the West. Uncle thinks I did well.”

 

Athelstan swallowed and finally spoke the name that he hadn't allowed himself to form for so long. “And Ragnar?”

 

Björn's shoulder twitched and his expression withdrew somewhat. “He thinks I have more to learn.”

 

That sounded like Ragnar. He demanded a lot from those who followed him; of course he wouldn't behave any differently towards his son. He had made Björn wait until he was older to raid. Athelstan could recall clearly how much Ragnar had missed his eldest son, he had loved his sons by Aslaug but he had still missed his first born. Athelstan had found that he had missed Björn as well, in Kattegat and in Wessex. He had missed a lot about Kattegat. It’d been a pain that hadn’t left him, even though he’d tried not to think about it.

 

He thought about it now, looking at Björn, at such proof that he was in Kattegat again, that time had truly passed. He smiled a little, he wondered if he looked as broken apart as he felt.

 

“Ragnar has more to learn too. Why do you think he stole me in the first place?”

 

Björn smiled a little in return and frowned at the monk’s robes. “Why are you wearing that?”

 

Athelstan plucked at the fabric, beset by so many memories – his brothers at Linisfarne, King Ecbert showing him the hidden Roman treasures, a much younger Björn wanting to know why Athelstan had shaved part of his head. The robes seemed so at odds with where he was now.

 

“King Ecbert…”

 

He trailed off, no, that wasn’t right. Björn’s face was creased, as though concerned or at least wondering why Athelstan hadn’t finished his sentence. Everything inside Athelstan felt unfinished, ragged and nonsensical. Why did he feel this way most of all when Lagertha and Aslaug weren’t at his side? He shook his head and blinked away damp frustration.

 

“I thought it was what I needed.”

 

Björn cocked his head and looked unconvinced. “Was it?”

 

Athelstan didn’t have an answer. Surprisingly, Björn seemed willing to accept the silence. He turned to the clothing heaped beside the bed.

 

“You need to exercise. These clothes will be better.”

 

He was probably right. Athelstan pushed himself up to his feet and found he could stand without help. He was still in pain, he'd been in pain for so long now because of the cross. Suffering sent from the Lord himself? Punishment for leaving Wessex? For doubting that he should return to Kattegat? Whatever the reason, Athelstan did feel better physically than he had done in a long while. Björn looked pleased. Athelstan drank in the expression and hesitantly pressed a hand to Björn’s forearm. Björn didn’t protest.

 

“It’s good to see you, Björn.”

 

Björn looked at him with a very intent gaze, Athelstan wondered why. All Björn did was nod and clasp his hand firmly. Athelstan was startled by the pain, by the reminder of nails and wood and blood and _is this my punishment, Lord?_ But he didn’t flinch.

 

*

 

He began exercising after that. He walked around the village, greeting some who seemed genuinely happy to see him. He thought he could sense that someone somewhere was watching him but wherever he turned, the face he sought was absent. He learned what he could and couldn’t lift with his hands. He could still write if there was paper and ink. He missed that, he missed civility but only King Ecbert had shown him that while skewering pagan beliefs and also wishing to learn from them. Athelstan had never fully known what to think of him.

 

“I was grateful,” he told Princess Aslaug as he deftly braided her hair. “He saved my life.”

 

“Just as Ragnar did.”

 

“And for the same reason.”

 

Aslaug nodded, though not enough to disturb his work. “To know more of where you’d come from.”

 

Athelstan combed more strands together for braiding. Such a task was good for his hands, it improved their movement, and honestly he was glad to spend time with Aslaug. Somehow she quietened the frantic choking thoughts that plagued him so often. He wondered if she knew that, he wasn’t sure how to tell her.

 

“What did you tell him?”

 

Athelstan’s hands paused; he was flooded with memories of King Ecbert’s searching countenance. As with Ragnar, it hadn’t always been pleasant to be pinned beneath such a gaze. However he hadn’t made the same mistake twice, he hadn’t revealed everything to King Ecbert. He spoke of this to Aslaug.

 

“I told him about pagan beliefs and behaviour. He asked me about Ragnar’s tactics and decisions, what the Norsemen might do next. Often I told him I didn’t know the answers to his questions, because I was never important enough to know what he was seeking.”

 

“But you were.”

 

She sounded so sure. Athelstan’s touch might have become a caress through her hair. She didn’t condemn him for it.

 

“He asked what sort of man Ragnar Lothbrok was. I said that Ragnar saw what many did not and that he strove to succeed with the belief that his gods would show him favour if he listened to them and sacrificed well.”

 

“What did King Ecbert say?”

 

It sounded as though Aslaug was smiling. Athelstan smiled a little too as he finished off another careful tight braid.

 

“He was silent, but he thought hard about such words.”

 

Aslaug motioned for Athelstan to stand in front of her so that they were face to face. He wore breeches and a shirt now, his hair was still long and his beard was still growing. Something felt settled beneath his skin. He still prayed to God each night, he wasn’t sure how clearly he was heard. His prayers felt more able though.

 

“Something hangs over you,” Aslaug mused aloud. “It keeps you separate, why?”

 

Athelstan fidgeted a little. His flesh crawled when he thought of the visions he had seen and the dreams that still haunted him. He still couldn't understand what God was trying to tell him. The arm-band clinked at his wrist and Athelstan remembered how he’d reached out when he’d seen Lagertha and Ragnar, he’d been so sure that they were visions. He rubbed a thumb against the metal of the band and something hot and despondent sliced through him.

 

“I thought I was a free man.”

 

Aslaug raised an eyebrow. “You are.”

 

“So why did Ragnar decide for me?”

 

This was the crux, the worm that had been twisting through his thoughts, the darkness that had refused to leave him. He had chosen to stay in Wessex, he hadn’t asked to leave but Ragnar had taken him back to Kattegat anyway. Had the arm-band meant nothing? And why hadn’t Athelstan seen Ragnar since that brief vivid moment in Wessex?

 

Aslaug’s expression sharpened and Athelstan tensed. Was this the moment when he was punished and everything made sense again? Aslaug held out a hand and when Athelstan was close enough, she gripped his wrist tightly.

 

“What did they do to you?”

 

Athelstan looked at her hard. “What did you see?”

 

They stared at each other, their gazes molten. Athelstan felt warm under his skin, like a fever, like the most unnerving kind of dream. Aslaug didn’t let go of him, her thumb brushed over his pulse. He felt as though he was drowning but she was his lifeline. He only grew more confused each day.

 

“I saw a circle of briars here.” Her free hand touched his forehead and found scars unerringly. Athelstan closed his eyes. “There was blood and prayers and a face seeking many gods. There was a heart and mind divided and a yearning for what was lost. When King Ecbert rescued you, that did not change.”

 

Her thumb touched his palm, the bandaged mark. In Athelstan’s mind, it was still wet and bloody. His eyes opened.

 

“You’re still divided now.”

 

She didn’t sound angry or sneering as Floki did. She was simply stating what she knew. Athelstan wet his lips. He wanted to unload so much, he wanted to spill words before her and have her make sense of them. She was a princess and Ragnar’s wife but she chose to spend time with Athelstan, an injured Saxon priest who had sought a foreign God.

 

“I don’t understand,” he said quietly.

 

Aslaug kept hold of him. “Ragnar and Lagertha brought you back because they exacted a price for what King Ecbert did – the slaughter of King Horik’s men and the betrayal of an agreement. They injured his son and killed many of his people. They brought back one of their own who was taken.”

 

It made sense, if Torstein or Floki had been taken, Ragnar would have come for them, Lagertha too. He had been one of them; he had been Ragnar’s as all free men of Kattegat were. They had come for him. Something moved in his chest.

 

“You did not run, you did not call for King Ecbert’s men to slay the Norsemen. You reached for them.”

 

The silence between them was heavy. Athelstan wanted to apologise for the pain Aslaug must have experienced when she had seen what would happen to him. He wanted to question the fact that he was apparently wanted here. For all that he had done, Ragnar had still not shown his face to Athelstan in Kattegat. Who would want him here if Ragnar did not? Björn seemed to enjoy seeing him and liked to talk about Gyda. Torstein brought him ale and clapped a hand to his shoulder carefully. Floki never visited and Athelstan was glad. The boatbuilder had a disquieting talent for seeing everything that Athelstan didn’t say. He wondered how Aslaug dealt with him.

 

He wanted to thank Aslaug for tending to him, for showing him kindness when she had no reason to. He didn’t know how to say such things without causing offence. So instead he mimicked Lagertha and lifted Aslaug’s hand to his lips. It was a lingering careful gesture and when he looked quickly towards Aslaug she was smiling.

 

*

 

Athelstan got to know Aslaug and Ragnar’s sons. Ubbe and Hvikserk tumbled around his feet curiously and were already learning how to use wooden swords. They reminded him of Björn and Gyda, asking him the same questions and learning the same sword exercises. He cautiously told them that and watched as Björn himself began to teach them, a quiet smile on his face.

 

Aslaug held Sigurd Snake-In-The-Eye in her arms and did not seem to mind Lagertha’s son leading her children in such a way. There was a wolf pelt around her shoulders; it was soft when it touched Athelstan.

 

“They are all Ragnar’s sons,” she said, answering the question that Athelstan had not asked. Perhaps others had. “It is the way it should be.”

 

“Athelstan!” Björn called to him. “You must learn again.”

 

Athelstan did not resist much and smiled at the feel of a wooden sword hilt in his hand again. He could remember practising with Björn and Gyda, with Lagertha, and with Ragnar. He could remember swinging an axe and cutting down a soldier intent on killing Ragnar, he remembered not regretting that choice. He had regretted killing the young monk, surrounded by paper and ink. It had been an instinctive decision that had changed everything.

 

Now, he found himself felled by Ubbe and Hvikserk who crowed with delight at their victory. Athelstan laughed and caught sight of Lagertha with a line of fish over one shoulder, a faint smile on her face. He thought that he saw a glimpse of long familiar braids nearby and piercing blue eyes. His heart squeezed hard and Björn smirked as Athelstan forced himself back to his feet with a rueful expression. He thought he saw a lot of things.

 

*

 

Aslaug insisted that Athelstan should continue to braid her hair and several times Lagertha called for him to do the same for her. She teased him when he could not twist her hair up smoothly but did not undo his efforts. He wondered at Aslaug and Lagertha's affectionate ease with each other, at the obvious love between them. Aslaug so often smiled as though satisfied, a look that she shared with Lagertha. Athelstan was glad for their peace and contentment, but he remained confused. Was this why he did not see Ragnar?

 

Ubbe and Hvikserk didn't seem confused and Lagertha didn't seem too pained around the children that she hadn't been able to give Ragnar herself. She listened to them and taught them and only once or twice did Athelstan see a far-away look in her eyes. He cautiously wrapped an arm around her waist then and she leaned back into him for a long moment before forcing him to face her with a sword in hand. She felled him easily but told him that he had improved.

 

Björn didn't seem troubled either. He also told Athelstan what Lagertha's second husband had been like. Björn's jaw tensed with fury but he relished explaining how Lagertha had chosen to return to the man who had badly hurt her and then return to Kattegat once she had repaid such treatment in kind.

 

Björn told stories of his father too, of recently fishing with him, of learning beside Ragnar and Rollo. Athelstan wondered if he'd offended the man whose arm-band he wore, if he'd only imagined any kind of closeness with the Norseman who had once enslaved him and had later set him free.

 

Lagertha watched Athelstan weaving, her smile soft. Perhaps she was remembering how Gyda had once taught him, giggling at his efforts. Lagertha offered her own thoughts on her first husband.

 

“How could any but the gods themselves imagine Ragnar Lothbrok?”

 

How indeed.

 

*

 

That night, through a haze of sleep he heard kissing and then two people were sharing his bed, one on either side of him. He froze, wasn't he under Aslaug's protection? And Lagertha's? Or was he now being punished for the choice he had made in Wessex? He knew he wasn't imagining things.

 

Lagertha curled around his back, her arm secure around his middle. The figure on the other side of him pressed a kiss to his forehead and encouraged him to wrap an arm around her waist. He recognised the braids in her hair, he had twisted them himself.

 

“Princess Aslaug.”

 

He felt the breath of her smile. She had kissed him and was now sharing his bed. Dazed, he felt Lagertha stroke fingers down Aslaug's arm and press her mouth lingeringly to his neck.

 

“What...?”

 

Aslaug touched fingers to his temple. “We're here, Athelstan.”

 

For once, that wasn't the problem. “I know, I...Why?”

 

Lagertha let out a breath that warmed his ear. “Because it's cold and we want to be.”

 

Everything felt more tangled and out of his reach than ever before. Athelstan opened his mouth to pray but paused. He doubted that the Christian God would be welcomed by Aslaug and Lagertha. He couldn't believe he was welcomed by them and wanted. They had other bigger beds, their own chambers, why would they want to sleep beside him? They were holding him close and touching him as though he was precious. The ache he could feel was a good one.

 

Aslaug's fingers reached his mouth. Athelstan stilled.

 

“If you want to pray, pray,” she said, as though it was no great gift that she was giving.

 

Could it be a trick? Then he felt Lagertha breathe him in. Her breasts were distracting against his back but she did not tease him for his awkwardness. All his discomfort disappeared when Lagertha's hands closed around his, covering the shameful jagged marks that would never leave him.

 

“We did not punish you for speaking to your god before.”

 

Athelstan shook his head. They had asked questions and had teased him for a religion that they could not fully understand, but they had never beaten him or worse for his faith. His Christian brothers had, believing him to have lost every shred of his love for God. It was something he'd shied away from thinking about too closely, how far away forgiveness and understanding had been when he had at last stood among Christians again. But the fact remained and he could not ignore or deny it.

 

“Did you stop talking to Odin?”

 

That was Princess Aslaug, her every word a warm breath that hit his cheek and made his own breathing stutter. He was torn between great guilt and the kind of arousal that he'd thought he'd never battle with again, what would Ragnar think if he saw this? Athelstan choked out a noise because Ragnar had never hidden his lust and had once asked Athelstan to join him and Lagertha in their bed. It was a moment that Athelstan often thought about.

 

He answered Aslaug. “No.”

 

Because no matter how much he had loved God, a love that pagan priests had seen, a love that had never truly left him no matter how abandoned and hurt he had felt, he had grown to know the Norse gods too. He had heard thunder and had thought of Thor's mighty hammer, he had heard of couples in Kattegat wishing to conceive a child and so had turned his face towards where sacrifices were left for Freyja, he had seen Floki crowing loudly as he’d worked on his boats and others shaking their heads at the catches they had made out in the water and he had sent a silent request to Njörðr for a more plentiful sea. He had prayed a lot and the guilt and shame had lessened every day, because God had still heard him and so had Odin and his children.

 

“Perhaps the face that Odin sometimes wears is one you know.”

 

Aslaug's words hung in the silence, Athelstan's heart beat fast. He had spoken of such things to King Ecbert, of how stories of pagan gods and their recorded mannerisms had seemed similar to other teachings he knew by heart. King Ecbert had believed that such stories would show him the path to conquering glory, the same glory known by the Romans who had been fiercely pagan and who had cut down all who had opposed them.

 

Athelstan had sometimes wondered if he addressed God when he addressed Odin. Such an idea had led to his first life in Kattegat becoming less painful. His thoughts in that direction had only deepened once he’d begun to look through King Ecbert's hidden store of pagan items. Even a great Christian king like Ecbert, scholarly and refined, had seen value in learning pagan ways.

 

But Athelstan hadn't just learned such things for a weapon when wishing to progress in the Norse world, he had taken such pagan teachings to heart. Even when he had been in monk robes in Wessex, he had seen ravens and he had found himself whispering Odin's name.

 

He whispered it now, Norse and Old English mixing in prayers that those beside him would only half-understand. Aslaug guided him down to rest against her chest, his head tucked under her chin, her arms secure around him. Lagertha stayed pressed to his side and to Aslaug. Athelstan heard them kiss. His prayers were endless strings of gratitude and questions. He slept with his face close to Aslaug's skin, her heartbeat a comforting sound, Lagertha a guard and a warmth at his back.

 

During the night, Athelstan, half-awake, realised that someone else was crawling bodily across the bed, whispering with Aslaug and taking her place at Athelstan’s side. She made sure to drape an arm across the newcomer so that her fingers met Lagertha’s and rested on Athelstan. Athelstan felt as though lightning was spreading under his skin because he recognised the shape and smell of the man next to him.

 

There was a cold sweep of braids against his neck, then Ragnar’s hot hand clamped to Athelstan’s hip and his teeth scraped over Athelstan’s collarbone. Athelstan hissed and the lightning through him grew stronger, especially when Lagertha tucked a hand beneath his shirt and touched his bare skin. Athelstan fumbled for Aslaug’s fingers, his thoughts spinning and thundering wildly. Another vision? Another dream? It was pleasurable and unexpected enough to be so.

 

Elbows and knees nudged in a bed too small for so many occupants. Aslaug whispered something in her husband’s ear that Athelstan couldn’t hear clearly. He said his own silent prayers to God, to gods of many names. Lagertha struck a foot out across him to kick at Ragnar’s shins. Apparently she did not need to explain the violence because Ragnar didn’t protest too much. Athelstan felt Ragnar grope down his arm and find the arm-band. He could clearly picture Ragnar’s smug smile; in that space between sleep and wakefulness he dared to reach out to trace it, Ragnar nipped at his fingers.

 

Athelstan could feel the softness of Lagertha’s hair against his neck and Aslaug’s fingers intertwined with his. Ragnar was holding him close in a way that suggested he might later refuse to let go. Athelstan bit his own lip and kissed the jarl’s forehead.

 

_Thank you._

 

Whoever he was praying to knew to listen for his words. He breathed in, his palms itched. He ached all over; some of it felt good. He wondered tiredly if Ragnar would still be there in the morning. His grip increased. He hoped to God, to Valhalla, that this wasn’t just a dream.

 

_-the end_


End file.
